


& nothing's wrong but nothing's true

by arbhorwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Season 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbhorwitch/pseuds/arbhorwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She used to be afraid of thunderstorms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	& nothing's wrong but nothing's true

**Author's Note:**

> falls over idk what this is but y eah 
> 
> mostly ambiguous, probably doesn't make a lot of sense but i love kira, i love kira and scott, and i also love kira loving lydia and stiles and malia and trying to fit into that picture 
> 
> references to bisexuality (i rly need bisexual/pansexual kira in my life tbh) and uh?? not really stiles/malia, but you can read it that way if you'd like 
> 
> 4x01 spoilers, title from buzzcut season by lorde

When she kisses Scott, she tastes the hesitance on his tongue, the way his lips are soft against hers, probing, questioning, as if he’ll push too far too fast and it’ll crash around them. She understands, because she’s spent years wringing her hands over wrinkled sweaters, twisting fitfully in her lap, rebellious, as if she’ll lose her footing if she doesn’t ground herself. Her dad calls her shy: quiet, but strong, and she wants to believe him. Wants to trust her mom again, maybe, one day.

But she kisses Scott, holds on to her resolve before it crumbles to petal-dust in the snow, and his hands burn her waist through the rainbow belt hooked through her jeans. He’s slow, careful, and Kira has never associated herself with fragility, but in this moment—suspended—she thinks about nothing.

She wonders if she tastes like lightning, energy thrumming under her skin, but he smiles before she can ask.  

*

Lydia asks her on a Sunday morning, both of them cocooned in blankets on Lydia’s couch, Disney movies on repeat, if she loves Scott.

“Um,” she hesitates, and Lydia’s eyes flash with understanding. “I don’t… it’s too early, I think, but I could. Maybe. I want to.”

Lydia mulls it over, rolling the words on her tongue, but she’s not unkind; Kira thinks about what it might be like to kiss her, whether Lydia would taste like aconite or something calmer, sweeter; strawberries, perhaps, and Kira bites her tongue and swallows the thought.

“Hold on to it,” she says, patting Kira’s knee with a gentle smile: rare, and Kira pockets it. Holds on to it. She’s never had many friends and she can tell that Lydia hasn’t either, not really. “But that sweater needs to go. Immediately.”

Kira could love her, too, laughs like she already does.

*

She used to be afraid of thunderstorms.

*

“I could tell you _so many stories_ , Kira, so many. Pre-wolf Scott, the most adorable not-yet puppy you could ever meet, it was amazing.”

Stiles likes her, she thinks, hopes, and she watches as the shadows creased in bruises under his eyes gradually fade to a dusting of ghosts in the hollows of his cheeks. She had written out an apology in careful ink two weeks after the funeral, had slipped it in his locker and ran, and her phone had three new messages the same night. She figures Scott gave him the number, finds she doesn’t really care about the _how_ , even now, and the messages stay saved.

“Did he always do the eyebrow thing?” she asks, tucking her legs under her on Stiles’ couch, and Stiles laughs, shoulders vibrating with mirth. She smiles. She doesn’t have to tread lightly, not here. “When he’s unhappy or worried—“

“He gets the weird dimple between his eyebrows, _yes_.”

She doesn’t know if he’ll ever trust her, or if she’ll ever be able to make up for it (nothing, he tells her later, it’s _not_ your fault, and it’s not mine, we’ll get there, i promise) but Stiles has spent so much time alone lately and Kira isn’t sure where she stands. Sometimes she sees a flicker of the fox that no longer exists, but it’s gone just as quick; Stiles is a spark, whole, if not in mind, completely in body. Sort of. She tries not to think about the bandages.

“Yeah,” she says, sinking into the cushions and reaching for a handful of popcorn.

Stiles nudges the bowl toward her and smiles.

*

_Unknown (6:15): If anyone’s right for Scott, I’m going with you. Thanks, Kira._

_Unknown (6:28): Also, btw, guilt isn’t worth it. No one blames you._

_Unknown (8:25): But I think I might know how you feel, so if you’re ever in the mood to talk to someone without worrying about stepping on toes, I’m your man. I have an arsenal of terribad movies we can totally get through in a day._

*

Malia says, “Dance with me, dumbass,” and Kira relearns the curves of her own body, the way her hips meet skin meet thighs, the slope of her breasts and the way her knees bend to her will; her hair comes loose on her shoulders and Malia’s skin is warm when Kira brushes her hand. Not quite electricity, but _something_ , and Malia’s grin is less feral, less teeth.

They stop for gas on the way home, and Kira pulls Malia aside, splays her fingers over the bloody wound still healing on her hip and says, “Maybe you shouldn’t do that again.”

Malia hums, shrugs. Stiles’ voice in her head: progress.

She wonders if Malia knows.

*

Scott kisses her under the clouds at two a.m., rain like ice on their skin, and she asks, “Do I… do I taste like electricity?”

She’s comfortable in her body, less in her mind; foxfire, lightning in the pads of her fingers, her veins.

“Not really,” he says quietly, mouthing at the corner of her lips. She breathes, and he adds, “You taste like strawberries tonight.”

Kira laughs, and Scott keeps kissing her, and there is no fox, just—this.


End file.
